The strings
of morning's cliche
cut me like a wildfire
and ravaged my veins
separating cells from
destructive heartbeats
as my lungs suffocated
under the prison of my ribcage
and my voice degenerated
to the sound of wind-struck chimes.
YOU ARE READING
Dysfunctional Families, Murder, and Dead People.
PoetryA short collection of shorter poems.
Cages
The strings
of morning's cliche
cut me like a wildfire
and ravaged my veins
separating cells from
destructive heartbeats
as my lungs suffocated
under the prison of my ribcage
and my voice degenerated
to the sound of wind-struck chimes.